Lapsus
by arcanegel
Summary: His entire family was murdered and now he is left with the urge to exact revenge. But under the weight of war with other prodigies and the watchful eyes of his new benefactor, how is Light to punish the murderer? LxL. MxM.
1. Dirge

**arcanegel:** Formerly "Daddy Long Legs," resurrected.

Lapsus - Lapse  
 _I. Dirge_  


* * *

 **Lapsus**

.

Half past midnight. The only voice in the world of Quillsh Academy is deep and resigned, a voice laced with as many secrets as with warmth. Hidden behind the doors of the upstairs office, the man who owns that voice paces back and forth on tired feet.

"Are you sure about this?" he is talking into his cellphone. The voice on the other line, similar to his in that it carries a sheer cloak of exhaustion, speaks strictly. Whatever is happening at this ungodly hour, neither party seems to be at ease.

"Yes, I am," the other man is saying. "Tell the boy only the most important things. Whatever question he has afterwards, he can give to me. Is this all right with you, Roger?"

"...Yes, I suppose so." Roger closes his eyes and thinks of the man on the other line, the man of many names that he himself had helped raise as his own, sitting alone on the other side of the world. What could he be thinking? The young man was never one to make unclear, and possibly unwise, decisions. So why...?

"Thank you. Wammy will not be able to leave my side at this time, but someone from my team will take care of things. I'll keep in touch. Goodbye, Roger."

"Goodbye..." the old man pauses, and tries again. "Goodbye, Deneuve."

There is a click and the call promptly ends.

Just as Roger prepares to relax in his armchair, there is a blackout.

.

 **I. Dirge**

.

Light Yagami looked back to that specific moment when everything he had had all his life was broken into irretrievable pieces. It was a Sunday, a fine day like any other, and he was studying at home while his parents took Sayu out for a celebratory shopping spree. What had it been for? Light was ashamed to admit he had not been paying attention to his family that day, or to anything for that matter. A test was coming up and he wanted to put his all into scoring one hundred percent. The afternoon was a complete blur; between flipping through his textbook and punching equations into his calculator, there was not much he could remember of that time. Until he received the phone call, nothing interrupted his autopilot.

It was from Aizawa. Light knew him, of course. He was one of the police officers working with his father, Soichiro Yagami. He considered the man aloof and a little distant; that he called at all was an instant sign that something was wrong. Otherwise, he would not have bothered anyone for anything.

He remembered holding the phone tightly against his ear as a deep sinking feeling settled into his stomach like a punishment.

"Light Yagami," Aizawa said half-heartedly. "Are you doing well? I heard you're studying for your exams."

Aizawa tried to start with something nice. It made him nervous so Light did not respond to that. He countered instead with a firm, "What's going on?"

There was silence. Light's heart rate increased each minute the man hesitated. It was almost as if he was being forced to answer his own question.

"I...called because..."

Get on with it...

"I have..."

Get on with it!

"...terrible news."

The police officer gave it all away before even saying it. By observing his tone of voice, Light already built up a suspicion of his own. But those...Those last two words. They threw away so much more than Light needed to come to the conclusion.

"My family..." he whispered, more to himself than the man on the other line. "Is my family all right?"

"You see, Light..."

"...Someone went on a rampage in Shinjuku. Many people were hurt."

"...No."

"Light, I'm afraid that your family was among them. They-"

"No."

He would not accept this. He definitely was not going to accept this. This was not happening.

His family.

"Light, they were all killed. I am-"

"No!"

"I'm sorry."

His world stopped in that moment, throwing Light into a void. It was as if he had taken a blow to the head and, although he could still plainly see everything around him, he had gone blind. He did not know what to do or what to focus on, much less what to say to the man who had given him the news. He remembered the silence that enveloped him shortly after that sensation of helplessness, and then falling to the floor, letting the telephone hang from its wire like a condemned sinner.

He remembered the insensitive events that followed that afternoon. He had not yet had time to recover from the initial shock when he found himself in the police headquarters with Aizawa, where a tall, overbearing man of indeterminate descent was speaking to them in a private room. Light truly did not possess the energy to focus on the situation then, only registering that they were discussing his future without a family. His life as an orphan from now on. His...studies? The foreigner seemed more distant than Aizawa himself, if that was possible. He barely laid his eyes on Light while he pored over documents with the policeman, speaking in a painful accent that made both Japanese citizens cringe.

Had that occurred on the same day he received the news? Who knew.

Next, the boy recalled the memorial service. Once again, Aizawa had been his only real companion. A crowd of figures in black surrounded him from all sounds but they did not matter, despite the tears that were falling from everyone's eyes. Or the sound of strangers' voices oozing like thick pus from their mouths despite the tenderness. Or the way those eyes furrowed to attempt understanding and the way they tried to pat his shoulder or embrace him, as if they too had been shot through the heart.

In fact, Light had been faking as well. The teenager was heartbroken, which was clear despite the facade he had served up of remaining calm. The pretense was useless, really; one could peer into the surviving Yagami's eyes and find all the tears he'd hidden away. But to indulge the boy, everyone in the procession put up a facade of their own, one that collectively believed that Light was all right. He would be fine. Light had always been supported by a mask of some sort. It had become so natural to him that he rarely ever found a need to take it off. He knew they could tell, and he held no personal contempt for them, but Light could not fight the feeling of rage towards the warmth they offered him.

Did they think it helped?

What could their sympathy ever do to take this away?

A curtain of agony had consumed him as he gazed at the headstones of his loved ones. The world all but closed in on him.

The sky grew and darkened immeasurably.

He did not remember much afterwards.

.

That was how quickly and chaotically it all happened, a steady series of pain and confusion that tore him up like gunfire. In a sense, Light felt that he himself had died. It was as if he had been paralyzed, unable to express his pain yet unable also to defeat it. Each memory that flitted through his mind threatened to take him down: his father's heroism, his mother's affection. Sayu's innocence, memories of petting her head to escape her hugs...Thinking back on it, the boy decided that it would have been much less devastating if he had cried out his all during the memorial service. But he had been constantly presented with mugshots of the murderer. The man's face had been there everywhere he went, from the giant screens in the city to the papers. He couldn't bring himself to break, not when he was being watched. And now the chance had gone and he was left to will himself through the rest of his life with nothing but silence to soothe the ache.

His father, his mother, and his sister no longer existed.

Although Aizawa had taken it upon himself to watch him and even stood beside him throughout the entire ordeal, Light felt truly alone.

And now, even the police officer was gone.

For some reason, it felt too late to break now.

.

The sound of the plane cutting through the sky suddenly broke his contemplations. Light snapped back to reality, the one that he would now be traversing on his own. Sitting in the aisle across from him was the foreigner he had met at the police headquarters. Light vaguely recalled the man introducing himself as Angel, a name that hardly suited him. He looked more like a gangster in Light's humble opinion. In the meager light provided by one open window Light could make out an olive complexion and the shimmer of greased black hair.

Angel, who until then had been leisurely writing on a notepad, cast him a glance. He must have noticed Light looking at him.

"How are you holding up?" he asked in terrible Japanese.

"I'm fine," Light replied flatly. He paused for a moment and then added, "If it helps, you can speak to me in English."

Angel scowled, but took Light up on his offer. Unfortunately there was very little improvement.

"I don't think it helps your case, but English _is_ much easier for me," he said, accent still just as thick. Then, placing the notepad down on his lap, he leaned over his seat slightly, turning his full attention to Light. "You haven't really been _here_ for a while, if you know what I mean. And I don't blame you, but that just won't do when we reach our destination. All right? What do you know of your situation so far, anyway?"

The foreigner's voice was deep. Combined with his strange way of speaking, it was reminiscent of-for some reason-black coffee. Light did not enjoy black coffee. And he did not enjoy what Angel was getting at. Nevertheless, he thought long and hard about what he'd retained of the past few days.

"I'm...my family is gone. You and Aizawa-san took care of everything. I'm leaving Japan..." he went with the most significant facts, the ones that had been impossible to miss although they still felt untrue. Beyond that, he realized he knew nothing. "We're on an airplane now. Uh...I'm unclear as to why I'm to live abroad from now on."

Light ended there, realizing too late that in his depression he had allowed himself to be passed back and forth between strangers without once trying to involve himself in the matters concerning his own future. That was incredibly stupid and he knew that, yet he still could not shake himself from the listlessness that embraced him.

He looked to Angel for any sort of elaboration. As if to congratulate him for remembering as much as he did, the foreigner swiftly filled him in.

"I was sent to take you to the Quillsh Academy," he said. "To put it bluntly, you've been scouted. It's a school for gifted kids from all across the globe. You will be able to further your studies there. The academy's priority is the refinement of their students' talents, sort of like sharpening a knife. You know? So you won't be wasting your time with simple radio calisthenics and shit you'd already learned on your own."

"How did they even find me? How was I at all considered...?"

"We have some outstanding alumni, kid. That's about all I'm allowed to tell you. Roger will explain the rest," said Angel, smirking enigmatically. Then, completely dropping the subject, he peered out his open window.

"Now get ready, we're almost there."

.

Deneuve, the third greatest detective in the world, sits crouched on a red armchair with a thumb in his mouth. He holds an unwrapped lollipop in one hand.

On the coffee table before him, a laptop glows as the only source of light in the room. It burns into unblinking eyes, reflecting.

"Forty-two...no...forty-five..."

His toes start curling and uncurling, as if he has realized something important but is not willing to do much else about it.

"Forty-six?"

Silence. Deneuve ponders to himself for a moment, absently nibbling at his thumbnail. Finally he sighs and drops the lollipop into an empty teacup. Taking his time, he unfolds himself from his crouch to stand. He approaches the laptop, which is now overheating with a muffled hum, and forcefully presses the power button.

"Forty-eight percent. Near will be furious."

The laptop screen flickers and fades to black.

.

 **I. Dirge**

.

 **Lapsus**

* * *

 **arcanegel:** Let's see where this goes. Until next time.

Lapsus - Lapse

Light  
Deneuve  
Roger  
Aizawa  
Angel (not a character from Death Note)


	2. Anticipation

**arcanegel:** Welcome back.

Lapsus - Lapse  
 _I. Dirge_  
 _II. Anticipation_

* * *

 **Lapsus**

.

As soon as the plane landed, Angel wasted no time in completing the last portion of his job, rushing Light Yagami through customs and out of the airport. From there they hopped into an old rental and sped off. Besides the notepad from earlier, nothing else distracted the foreigner or slowed his pace. Light did not hear a word out of him again until he stopped driving, parking haphazardly in front of their destination.

"Here," he announced, pounding his hands against the steering wheel decisively. Light set about gathering his meager belongings: a brown leather knapsack, a suitcase, and a drawstring bag with his favorite books inside. Angel whipped out his notebook and scribbled on it hurriedly before turning back around and saying, "Now listen up. I won't be going in with you. I've got to get going so...I don't know. Just take care. Okay?"

"What? Where are you going?"

Angel eyed him closely. He did not respond to the question.

"Roger is waiting for you out there," he supplied. "You'll find him easily. He's the only old bastard around here."

"...Okay," Light muttered. "I understand. Goodbye."

The boy opened the car door and struggled to get out, unceremoniously dragging his luggage behind him. The foreigner did not seem to consider his struggle. He did, however, reach over to give Light a hard pat on the back.

"You'll be fine."

Once his job was done and the car door closed, Angel sped off. Light watched the vehicle disappear behind a line of trees ready to shed their leaves. As usual, he felt completely lost.

.

 **II. Anticipation**

.

As Angel had promised, Light was received at the gates by one sadly-hunched elderly man in a yellow sweater. He had the face of some tired creature or other who had seen too much and rested too little, despite the smile stretched between his wrinkles. There was no doubt that this was Roger.

"Good afternoon, sir," Light greeted him in steady English.

"Good afternoon," the old man nodded and held out a hand, which Light promptly accepted. The handshake was not very strong, but it was decisive and intimidating. "I am Roger, as I'm sure you know."

"It's very nice to meet you."

"Likewise. Well, shall we?"

Roger gestured behind him, turning Light's attention to the campus he was to inhabit from now on. The sheer sight of it was overwhelming. It was a fortress, obviously built decades ago; the age was apparent on the faded brick walls, as if the academy were in its last stages of life. Three conjoined buildings formed a square together with the gate walls, enclosing a vast grassy space fit for a battle. People were scattered across this area, drowning in the light of the setting sun as they watched the newcomer's exchange with the man named Roger. Many of them appeared to be younger than Light, which was a little bothersome as he was not very fond of children. No matter. Angel had mentioned they were all 'gifted' here. Still...Light could not help but doubt that, as he spotted one of them stuffing boogers inside a yoyo.

"I must apologize for the lack of a welcoming committee," Roger was saying. "We are short-handed at the moment. In any case, welcome to the Academy."

"Roger, hey Roger! Who's that kid? What's going on?"

Light turned his head to locate the source of that voice, only to realize that he was surrounded. It seemed he and Roger had quickly garnered the attention of the entire yard as they made their way inside. While Roger simply made a face and ignored the inquisitive yammering, Light was disturbed by the eyes that multiplied around him, trying to get a good look at him. It was...interesting. The prodigy finally found the loudest of them, a blonde girl who was still making comments that only went unheard by her target. He made eye contact with her in a second and aimed a small but powerful smile, which shut her up immediately. She was beet red. The others who caught sight of the smile averted their eyes, obviously affected as well.

"Please follow me to my office," said Roger, unaware of what just happened. "We have a few things to discuss about your enrollment here, if you don't mind."

Before he was led up the grand staircase, Light cast one final look at the blushing girl, who was now fuming in her spot and glaring daggers at him. The newcomer found that odd, but somewhat entertaining. He shook his head and moved on.

On the second floor they were met by ominous oak doors that seemed to look down on them like a disapproving old couple. Roger twisted one the knobs open and entered his office, Light following closely after him.

The old man took a seat at the large mahogany desk occupying the very center of the room. Behind him the setting sun was pouring in from the windows, dramatically silhouetting his form. Light's heart stopped for a second as authority once more emanated from this deceptively subdued elder, before finally calming down to resume its regular pace. He was fine.

"Sit down, Light Yagami," Roger invited, using the boy's name comfortably now that they were alone. He motioned towards the only chair on the other side of his desk. Light walked forwards and took his seat.

"It's nice to finally be here, sir" he stated awkwardly.

"We are glad to have you."

Light could tell that he was being observed. Fortunately, Roger's stare felt more like a sweet little grandfather's than it did a man who made great forces out of his students. He had an air of warmth about him, very sweet and yet undoubtedly firm, and with the hint of a heavy past yet to be disclosed to anyone. The fifteen-year-old took an immediate liking to him, turning his smile from fake to genuine.

"As you already know," Roger began, shifting into a more professional mood. "This school is far from ordinary. I trust Angel had told you as much?"

Light nodded, and the elder continued.

"We house around two hundred talented students of all ages here, where they can get the proper education and training that suit their needs. We expect nothing but the best from each of our students. Rewards are given accordingly. There is no exception in your case, Light. Once your curriculum is determined and you start class, we will be closely watching your performance. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Light responded.

"Moving on then," the old man nodded, more to himself than the boy before him. "For security measures, none of our students use their real names. It is strictly forbidden here. Only I and a select few members of the staff are allowed to see our students' personal records."

At this, Light raised a questioning brow. Why on earth would real names be forbidden...?

"Each of you are given a nickname-a pseudonym, if you will-to which you will be referred for the rest of your time here in the Academy. This is very important for you to remember. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir," the boy replied. He was slowly becoming nervous as an effect of that grave voice.

"Now, the reason for the pseudonym. Angel may not have informed you of this, as it is something generally only shared inside the house. But here, we strive to educate our students so that they may one day help this world become a better place. And in order for them to successfully protect the world _,_ we protect their identities."

"Justice is a very heavy burden, son. Those who choose to serve it will undoubtedly make many enemies along the way. By keeping their backgrounds under wraps, we are reducing the risk of our students...and consequently, the world...being seriously harmed."

"Keep in mind, however, that not all of you will be walking this path. We guard everyone nonetheless. For those who have set their sights on different goals, pseudonyms and ranks are nothing but a school game: an empty contest, if you will. Those who understand our cause, on the other hand, will be competing for a place among our more prestigious alumni...but that is a different matter that we will discuss further down the road."

Roger paused to let his words sink in. Then, he pulled out a file folder from his desk drawer and gently handed it to Light.

"In this folder you will find your pseudonym, among other things. I recommend going through the other documents in your spare time; you may, however, take note of your new name now."

Light did as he was advised. He opened the folder and examined the first piece of paper it contained, reading what was written in deep black ink:

 **SIN**

 _-The lunar god, Mesopotamian mythology-_

"Not a very creative one, is it?" Roger chuckled at Light's visible grimace. "Don't blame me; I didn't pick that."

 _Sin_. The name itself left much to be desired, as he was not exactly fanatical about the English meaning of the word and was largely unfamiliar with Mesopotamian mythology. The part that intrigued him was that this Sin was the god of the moon. Now that, he quite fancied. Not to mention it had a connection to his real name. In any case it was but an alias, and although he'd have to endure others calling him Sin until he left this place, he decided he would make do.

"Sin was Deneuve's idea. I believe he also wrote you that letter."

Deneuve? Letter? As if on cue, Light suddenly noticed a powder blue envelope hidden among the contents of his file folder. He reached for it and took the time to admire the 'Sin' handsomely printed on the back before opening it. Noting that it was written entirely in Japanese, he began reading. Perhaps it was merely his imagination, but Light swore there was much to be gathered from that short, short letter. What was all of this? What did it mean? Apparently, he was now under the care of a man named Deneuve?

There was nothing for which to remain calm in Light's new world. Wrought with all sorts of emotions ranging from the lingering grief to anger to guilt to mirth to relief to gratitude to desperate and utter confusion, Light found little else to do but drop the letter and gaze at Roger in shock. This was a lot to take in. The world was surely spinning quickly around him nowadays! He would need some time to process all of this new information, to sort them all out and confirm exactly where he stood, and who exactly put him there.

"Mr. Roger...who is Deneuve?"

.

The detective tilted the cup to his lips, savoring the taste of sweet coffee. His eyes did not leave the person sitting in the armchair across from him. Angel had on his lap that ever-present notepad on which he recorded all his observations, scattered though they may be. Having just returned from his latest task (exclusively assigned by the detective himself), the notepad was guaranteed to contain observations on the boy that Deneuve had taken custody of. From the looks of it, things had gone well, but he anticipated the full report. He set the coffee cup down and remained silent.

Angel coughed and began his speech: "I met with Shuichi Aizawa as soon as I arrived. As you promised, he was very cooperative. The documents you signed were properly delivered and processed; I checked them myself."

Deneuve believed him. It sounded as if Angel had practiced his speech beforehand, perhaps in a public bathroom on his way back to headquarters. This was an efficient habit of his that the detective appreciated. It sped things along and prevented confusion. The foreigner tapped his fingers against the notepad in a steady beat and continued.

"As for the kid, I only had enough time to drop him off at Wammy's before I had to catch the train back here. He was easier to deal with than I expected, but obviously he was still pretty shaken. Didn't pay much attention to anything. I don't think he heard much of what I told him about school, to be honest. Other than that, everything's good."

"I'm sure Roger will get the point across to him," said Deneuve dismissively. It was expected that Light would be in a state of shock, but he suspected the boy was more intuitive than Angel thought. He did not relay this information to him, however. "Thank you for your help, Angel. Tomorrow you may return to your usual routine. So you didn't check in with your old teacher, then?"

"Very funny, boss," Angel replied, narrowing his eyes. He did not find his employer's question funny in the least. "I'm not talking to that old bastard."

Just then, Wammy entered the room. Deneuve nodded at him, a greeting that was reciprocated with a tray of assorted macarons.

"I trust you're not referring to me, Angel?"

"No, of course not, sir! I'm talking about Roger."

"That isn't any better."

Deneuve silently allowed his companions' banter to continue and helped himself to the sweets set before him. Nibbling pensively on a pistachio-flavored macaron, his thoughts strayed to the letter he had written for the orphan from Japan.

.

 **II. Anticipation**

.

 **Lapsus**

* * *

 **arcanegel:** Until next time.

Lapsus - Lapse

 _Light / Sin_  
 _L / Deneuve_  
 _Roger_  
 _Wammy_  
 _Angel (not a character from Death Note)_


End file.
